


WE ARE ALL JUST STORIES.

by Maliciouspixie5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Doctor Who References, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Paying Respects, grave side, watchers on a hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maliciouspixie5/pseuds/Maliciouspixie5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks after the suicide of John Watson….</p>
            </blockquote>





	WE ARE ALL JUST STORIES.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I’ve been procrastinating. I pulled this one out of my folder of idle plot bunnies to use as a writing exercise. Hope you like it. It’s a one shot and I don’t plan to continue so if you like the idea, run with it.

WE ARE ALL JUST STORIES.

 

Two weeks after the suicide of John Watson….

 

“We are all just stories in the end,” Greg Lestrade read out loud the epitaph on the grave stone. “Fitting for him and also a little tongue in cheek, that was so John.”

Beside him also gazing down at the tomb stone stood Mycroft Holmes, he raised his head and looked at his companion. “In what way?” He asked.

“It’s Dr. Who.” At Mycroft’s blank look he scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s a quote from Dr. Who, you know. Classic British show been around forever.” The Holmes brothers he started to rant in his head but his breath caught when he again had to remind himself he now only had one Holmes brother.

“Greg, I have little time to watch trivial TV dramas.”

“Well both of them are gone now Mike, so I think you may have a little spare time to watch telly. I’d like to think that they are together now.” He ignored the look sent his way over the nick name. “Maybe they are chasing other ghosts and solving age old mysteries or driving the angels insane.”

Mycroft just shook his head and gazed down at the two black gravestones. Sherlock’s stark black with just a name and the other a matching black with the insignia of the RMAC, John’s rank and full and the epitaph that guiltily claws at the shriveled heart inside his chest. 

They are disturbed by voices and turn to see Anthea approaching with Mrs. Hudson’s hand on her arm to steady her. She is dressed in a black dress and tears stain her face. In one hand she clutches two bouquets of flowers.

“My boy’s, my poor, poor boy’s.” She says as she approaches the grave. Anthea lets go of her arm and moves to Mycroft’s side. Mrs. Hudson walks unsteadily to stand beside Greg. “Greg, will you do my hip a favor and place these on the graves?” She asks tearfully and hands him the flowers. He kneels reverently and places the two bouquets in front of each grave. 

Anthea leans over to whisper something in Mycroft’s ear. “Greg, Mrs. Hudson, I have a call to make please excuse me. Anthea and I will wait for you in the car if you don’t mind, please take your time.” Greg nods up at Mycroft from the ground and watches as the two turn to walk back toward the church. He places his hand on John’s grave and uses it to return to his feet. His knees aren’t as bad as Mrs. Hudson’s hip but in the mornings or on occasion he has to retrieve something from the floor he remembers he isn’t as young as he once used to be. He regains his footing and stands close to Mrs. Hudson just in case she needs his help. Since John’s not here to watch over her he has taken up the gauntlet of her care. Sherlock and John would have appreciated that he did so. 

“I still can’t believe he did something like this. I know Greg that he was depressed. I understand that but,” She pauses. “He never got over Sherlock you know. But to go and kill himself… what … I just can’t believe it.” She rang her hands as she talked.

Greg just nods, what can he say, he is still in shock over the whole thing himself. “I know, I mean it’s been eighteen months since Sherlock.” He drops what he was about to say. “I thought with the book he was putting it behind him.” 

“Yes, yes, me too. I thought since the book was finished he would leave the apartment and get back out.” She fusses brushing her hands over the tops of the head stones.

“I’ve seen the commercials for it, congratulated him last month when they did the big release party. The book was a success before it even got on the shelves. Now with this I think they are in the second reprint. They can’t keep copies in the store.” 

“It’s ironic, Mycroft cleared Sherlock’s name and John releases his book on their adventures. Then he goes and does... this.” Her hand motions toward the stones. She falls silent then takes a deep breath asks “Did you hear what he did for me Greg?”

“The trust? Yes, I heard a little from Mycroft. I think he said John arranged for the rent to be paid and a stipend for you keep the room intact as it is now. What was he planning, for them to haunt it?” He smiled at the thought.

“It was quite generous of John to think of me. I would have had to let the room; I wouldn’t have been able to just let it sit. I am a business woman you know. After, I was only charging him half the rent.” She cleared her voice, “After Sherlock, I just didn’t want him to go. It felt safer with him there. For both of us.” She looked embarrassed for a moment and said, “I hope they do, haunt the flat that is. I miss them.”

“Me too Mrs. Hudson, me too.” He held out him arm to her and she grasped it and they slowly started back towards the church and the car.

 

///\\\\\///\\\\\

 

“What shall you tell him sir?” Anthea murmured.

“Nothing, nothing just yet. Let us hope he doesn’t catch a broadcast somewhere. It will be very bad if he does.”

“In what way?”

“Europe will burn Anthea. Europe will burn.”

 

///\\\\\///\\\\\

 

On a hill top in the distance sit two men dressed in black. One clutches binoculars to his face and the other looks through a scope removed from a snipers rifle. They watch silently as the four mourners get into the black sedan and leave the cemetery. The tall one breaks the silence. “They bought it. I told you I could do a suicide better than Molly.”

John Watson lowers his scope and looks at his companion with a smirk. “Don’t get too cocky just yet. It was messy enough but we had help, are you sure that they will keep silent?” 

Phillip Anderson lowers his binoculars and looks away from the car fading into the distance. “I assure you John, the members of the Empty Hearse will continue to be silent and render us any aid we might need in the coming months.” 

“Well then, what is our first stop Anderson?”

“My notes and map are placing him in Pakistan for now. The team is working to find out who he is stalking, hopefully by the time we get there they will have something.” He puts a hand on the others shoulder and says, “It was a nice epitaph John.” 

“Yes, I thought so myself.” He clears his throat and squares his shoulders and continues, “He made the magic and I wrote about it.” The shorter man the stood and reached a hand toward his companion to help him up. “Now… let’s go find my sleuth.”

**Author's Note:**

> It’s the beginning of harvest for me. My trees will keep me busy till well past Thanksgiving so I will try to get back to my story Blue Blooded Brood Mare as soon as I can. But think of this, while I’m out there alone in the fields I’m thinking up new stories and plot lines.


End file.
